Potato Potter Mismatched but Magical
by Juniper Laurel
Summary: What if...the cast of Harry Potter were all vegetables? What insanity would unfold at the Frogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery? Rated 'cause I'm phobic.


**Hi there, whoever's reading this. If you read my other fanfics (or what's there of them) you'll probably realize I start a lot and finish a little. I noticed that, and I'm working on it, but it will take time.**

**Disclaimer: This story here is an idea a friend of mine and I came up with and worked on together. I own nothing except maybe my share of the plot.**

**WARNING: CRACKfic READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**

* * *

><p>This is the story of a potato.<p>

I'd like to say he calls himself Potter, but since he is a potato he does not technically call himself anything. But since tale will incorporate much stranger things than sentient potatoes (and other vegetables) and since I, a self-proclaimed rather strange person, am the narrator, the potato shall call himself Potter. And we shall call him Potato Potter.

This is his story.

**Chapter One**

See that well-to-do, down-to-earth ordinary, portly, and rather dull man?

He is Mr. Dursley, a well-to-do, down-to-earth ordinary pineapple.

Why is he a pineapple?

Because he is a pineapple. (Don't ask me, I have no idea.)

He is married to a certain Mrs. Pineapple Dursley. Both of them are quite content with their lot, and intend to keep life the way it is. That is, until fate, which seems to have a mind of its own, downed a whole case of alcohol, came rampaging up to the Library of the Universe, tore the Book of History down from its peaceful shelf where cobwebs had been gathering cobwebs peacefully, decapitated a red marker, and graffiti-ed the entire damned thing.

"Poof!"

There went the happy days of a family of Pineapple Muggles.

Now it seems I'm just talking too much, doesn't it? It is the story of a young potato who calls himself Potter, after all. Worry not, as this is where he comes in.

True, he comes from a past splattered with ketchup and oil and general potato death. It is true as well that he comes with map-incompetent cats, ancient wizards who spend more time ballerina dancing than shaving (he doesn't, that's my point), and jet-lagged owls. And a giant stalk of celery on a motorcycle.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

This, simply put, is the tale, no, the _legend_, of Potato Potter.

**Chapter Two**

Ten years later, Potato Potter was eleven years old, more specifically, one year of love and ten years of wretchedness old.

He lived with his aforementioned aunt and uncle, the Dursleys, and their nonaforementioned son, Dudley. Dudley was about as intolerantly whiny and incurably sour as a pineapple can get, but for some inexplicable reason, he was the pineapple of his parents' eye.

They pampered him, you see, and they treated him with all the undeserved love poor Potato Potter lost with his own parents. Lily Lime Evans Potter may have been Mrs. Dursley's sister, but the Dursleys denounced little Harry Potato Potter as a relative of any relationship. Muggle law is Muggle law though, and they kept the potato alive, if not happy. They even brought him along when the neighbor could not babysit during Dudley's birthday celebration. They went to the zoo.

Potato Potter was mad. Ignore the fact that potatoes are not yet known to have emotions. He knew that the Dursleys would never celebrate his birthday. He wanted to do something for himself.

Still, it goes without saying that any mentally stable eleven-year-old, potato or not, would not let a snake loose on purpose.

"Thanksssss," hissed the reptile as it slithered past the startled potato and made for the door, for freedom.

"Daddy!" yelled Dudley the Pineapple.

"HARRY!" yelled Mr. Dursley.

"Uh oh," muttered the potato, "I'm in trouble now."

**Chapter Three**

"To Mr. H. P. Potter," read the potato.

He was finally free after a long time being locked in his cupboard. While getting the mail for Mr. Dursley, a letter so distinctly addressed to "Mr. H. P. Potter" as to detail his living area as "the Cupboard under the Stairs" ended up in his hand. What a surprise to a potato that until then was used to having his existence either disrespected or ignored.

"Oh no, you don't," growled the beet-faced Mr. Dursley.

The pineapple knew where the letters were coming from, and he knew what the sender wanted. He also knew that he would do everything in his power to stop it. Such determination could have been noble, if only redirected 180 degrees south.

He tried everything. At first, when the little potato tried sneaking down early in the morning to get at the letters, the pineapple slept beside the mail slot. The Dursleys uprooted themselves, running to a hotel, where 100 letters were promptly delivered, and then to a shack on an island the day before Potato Potter's birthday.

Thunder crashed and lightning split the sky. The pineapples and the potato were wide awake.

Someone was at the door.

**Chapter Four**

The potato looked up. "Who are you?"

"Happy birthday Harry," shouted the large stalk of celery that apparently knew Potato Potter's name. He gave Potato Potter a cake.

"Get out!" roared Mr. Dursley. Hagrid the Celery took the gun from the pineapple's hand and tied it into a knot.

"Harry's coming with me."

"No, he's not," flailed the pineapple. He was the perfect picture of a toddler girl who claims she hates a toy until another toddler comes by and asks for it.

The celery looked at the potato. "It's your choice, Harry. You're a wizard, and both your parents were wonderful wizards. What do you want?"

The words were new to Potato Potter.

"I'm your guardian!" screamed the pineapple, childishly, "You are my property and must stay here."

_What do you want?_

Potato Potter knew what he wanted. He wanted respect.

"Hagrid," he walked over to the rain lashed stalk of celery. "You say I'm a wizard. What do you mean?"

"There's a good potato," said Hagrid the Celery, "You'll see."

**Chapter Five**

"We're going shopping! We're going shopping!" sang a potato and a celery as they skipped off on their way to Diagon Alley.

Potato Potter never knew he was rich, nor did he know that "rich" came in Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts as well as dollars and pounds, but hey! It's the Wizard World, and there is much to learn for a Muggle-raised wizard.

"Fools," muttered the blonde boy, Dragon Fruit Malfoy, with a look of disgust on his face.

"What kind of name is Ollivander?" thought Potato Potter, not that it didn't really fit an olive. He picked up another wand. Sparks shot out from it and lit the celery's beard on fire (yes, Hagrid still has his beard).

"Why's everyone staring at me?" wondered the potato.

"The only one to have used a wand with feathers from the same phoenix as this one…" recalled the olive wand shopkeeper with a look of terror on his face, "Was He Who Must Not Be Named."

**Chapter Six**

"Pssh, nine-and-three-quarters, good luck finding that one," laughed Mr. Dursley. It was not a good laugh. Actually, Potato Potter had been surprised the pineapple let him go to Frogwarts, but then again, it was an awfully convenient way to get rid of the potato for a while.

Harry Potato Potter wandered about between platforms nine and ten, clueless about where to find his was to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. He gazed around and saw a family of carrots seeing their carrot children off, but they weren't standing next to any platform. Two tall carrots walked right into the wall between the two platforms and vanished into the brickwork. Around there was when Potato Potter made his first wizard friend. He met Ron the Carrot at the entrance to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters.

A few minutes later, the potato and the carrot met an overachieving girl by name of Hermione Ginger.

Potato Potter was wondering about the girl's name, so he asked, "Do you like gingers?"

The girl jerked her head up to glare at Ron the Carrot, who was indeed a ginger carrot, and just as quickly dropped her gaze into her lap again. "Yes, I guess I like gingers," she answered, blushing.

"Great!" chirped the potato, "I like Every Flavor Beans!"

This earned him an unappreciative withering stare.

* * *

><p><strong>I will reply to any and all reviews. If you feel like flaming, still feel free to review, but I can't guarantee it will earn a friendly response.<strong>

**All character ideas will be considered, if you have any. (I still need one for Luna.)**

**The next chapter should wrap up the first book. G'bye 'til then!**


End file.
